Insanity
by Dowash
Summary: Play the Roulette before saying goodbye


**Disclaimer: **Not mine, never mine. If I'd written the books you wouldn't be reading this story.

**Warnings: **Dark thoughts, self-harm, character-death, insanity like the dear author writes it (i.e. i won't blame you if you smile during this, I admit I have an odd sense of humor)

And I think that's about it.

There you go.

* * *

**Insanity**

Was it so wrong?

To love him, I mean.

Was it really so wrong?

_They_ said it was wrong. I heard them talking about it when they thought I was already sleeping like the good kid everyone wanted me to be.

_They_ were in the kitchen with the door open. I wasn't actually eavesdropping, you know. Not my fault if those damn idiots can't keep the door closed when they're having something they like to call an _adults'_ conversation.

Right. An _adults'_ conversation. Not some frightened kids looking for a target to pour their fears and frustrations on to.

It wasn't a conversation, it was a fucking _trial_. Twenty against one and they call _that_ justice? Don't make me laugh.

I saw them from where I stood leaning to the wall behind the door. _He_ looked as gorgeous as ever with his fire-illuminated, glowing hair falling slightly to his face as his eyes blazed. I loved looking at him in the light of the fire. It always made him look like an angel. Sappy, I know. You think he never told me that? But I held on to my belief and dragged him to a room with a fire going on as often as I could.

_His_ eyes blazed and scorched and I could feel the effect of it even from that distance. It twisted my stomach and sent a thrill down my spine, making me want to do something a Godson should never want to do to his Godfather.

_Their _first argument was the word that started with 'god' (which applies to _him_ extremely well, now wouldn't you agree?) and the rest was something obstinate I generally don't like. I felt my anger building up when I listened to that crap and I'm not saying anything about _him_.

Gods, that man was beautiful when he got worked up. And either all the people there were deaf, blind and thick to the core or they just chose to ignore the way _his_ eyes burned when he took it all calmly. I admire his composure. I think I would've thrown the table upside down the second that _hag _('oh please, yes, call me _mother_, I do like that word!' can I vomit?) took that disgusting pose and leered down on _my_- him.

The second argument?

Fucking _age difference_. Like we cared. It's nothing but numbers anyway. I remember seeing _his_ long fingers tapping to the table impatiently, the other hand was probably downer, gripping his knee. I caught him doing that sometimes, when he was trying to keep his façade.

The third argument was the best. I think I nearly laughed, though I can't remember it vividly. It's one of those irrelevant things you might recall and might not. Like I give a damn.

The third argument (and this one was from Remus, can you imagine?) was that _he_ might be doing something irreversible and damaging to me. Would you believe it? The wolfy tried to pull off something like that. I didn't buy it and neither did _him_. The way his eyebrows rose was enough in itself but the sneer topped it all.

I remember what he answered to that, the words still ring in my ears. Well, more than the words it was the _tone_ he had. I always loved his voice, see? To me, it was purring and soft and velvety and a hundred of other things, all at the same time.

'_Damaging_, dear Moony?'

The venom was dripping from his words and gathering to a puddle at his feet, I could nearly see it.

And I wanted nothing more than to burst in and drag him away.

I think I'd already moved. To go in, you know. But then he looked at me. Through all the people- _scum_- gathered in the room, past the elbows and angry stances, _he_ looked at _me_. I saw the anger in his eyes before it was briefly replaced with something else and the thin, red lips curled up to form a tiny smile which only I was fortunate enough to see. His head inclined slightly, barely noticeably, before he looked away again, leaving me in the corridor with wobbly legs and a pounding heart.

He always had that affect on me. Always. In the morning, during the day and in our bed.

Did I mention that we were sleeping together?

I had to take support of the door-frame to keep standing. I still wonder how the wolfy never caught my scent or anything. Maybe he was too busy biting _his_ head off.

The fourth argument was ridiculous.

It was _the_ accusation. And it echoed through the silent room.

'_He isn't James.'_

I don't remember if I gasped or not but I can assure you, if I gasped it was solely because I was really trying to bite back my laughter the second after. That was the oldest trick on the book and Arthur fucking Weasley was the one to lift the frog to the table.

_He _stayed quiet for a minute or two before the tempting 'we've-been-all-over-my-Godson's-body' lips parted. I remember. Everyone looked like they were preparing for some sort of a typhoon.

And then he laughed. Coldly but wholeheartedly, he laughed for a long while.

And I laughed as well. Silently. He was laughing so I laughed. Simple as that.

'I _know_ that, Weasel.'

Is what _he_ said. With a calm face and cold eyes when he looked at his judges.

I saw the skepticism. And disbelief. Reflecting in everyone's eyes as they looked down to him.

Did I mention already that he was the only one sitting? _They _were really getting kicks out of the thought that they were better than him.

I think I could've heard a lot more if that damn, fucking Know-It-All bitch hadn't decided to stroll down the stairs and bump into me. Personally I think she did it on purpose or else she has an extremely shitty vision which I highly doubt. Crashing into me like that was far from innocent and we basically flew through the door.

Their expressions were worth watching when one set of brains after the other caught up with it and realized I'd more or less heard.

I won't forget what _he_ looked like. A huge grin sneaked nearly surreptitiously to his face and I had the privilege to watch as he straightened, those slim muscles and the tall frame plated by the firelight.

I think I muttered an apology. I can't really remember but this time the oblivion was caused by the fact that I was calculating the distance between me and _him_. All I remember is that when I finally straightened properly he was already there beside me, a strong arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer.

_He _asked, back then, how much I'd heard. Maybe I gave the truthful answer, maybe not. I was too busy gazing to the grey fire. I do remember, though, that he said something to Moony. I might've said something as well, I think.

But you see… that wasn't the point. The point was that-

We didn't care.

When we thought- naively _believed_- that it was no-one else's business. That it was just me and _him_.

Supposedly forever.

Never say never, right?

We said never. So many times.

We'd never be separated. We'd never die. We'd never let go.

That's already three.

I heard once that the more times you say 'happy birthday', the luckier the birthday-boy will be during the upcoming year. So, is it that the more times you say 'never' the more times you'll get shit poured down to your neck by everybody?

I don't find it hard to believe that.

Eventually I had to leave. It was only the Christmas-holidays, after all. The time wouldn't slow down and start going backwards just because I wished it to do so, I'm not _that_ special even though I'm the Boy-Who-In-Fucking-Hell-Wouldn't-Die.

I still remember the last night before I had to leave to that fucking prison again. We'd spent the whole day upstairs, we didn't care if we starved to death because we didn't want to let go. Never to let go.

He whispered sweet things to my ear. I can still feel his warm breath brushing past my ear and making me shiver before he made it go away.

Have you ever had your heart ripped out, by the way?

I wouldn't recommend it. It hurts like hell.

If you want to have some measure, how about you take at least a thousand hot needles and stuff them in your eyes. Or get a firm grip of one of those nice butcher knives and gut yourself. You might get close like that. And (if you're feeling daring) how about slashing wounds to every inch of your skin with a searing hot razor before pouring some Firewhiskey on them.

You think I'm a bit off the track now?

Yeah, didn't think so either.

The spring was bearable, you know.

I couldn't see _him_ but at least we got to send letters. That was something, right?

Until I ruined it all.

There are exactly two words I hate the most in this world.

The first one starts with an 'a' and the second with a 'k'. And what do we get from those two words?

Death.

Heartache.

Death, again.

The longest seconds of my life… I don't think I want to talk about it.

It still hurts too much, although booze is quite the efficient way to dull emotions and destroy those precious brain cells along the way.

I think it's midsummer right now. And I'm alone. All alone, once again. No-one likes to be around

the murderer and 'I let my Godfather fuck me'- fella.

I wish I could visit _his_ grave. There was no body of course but I insisted that they arranged a burial.

I chose to ignore the pitying and worried looks I gathered like a magnet when I brought it up.

The Privet Drive's never looked more repulsing.

Another 'never' there, did you notice? More crap and shit to come.

But who'd want to admit the fucking golden boy has problems?

Not anyone around me, that's for sure. Would you believe that I've been here for two weeks after all- _that-_ and I've had like a dozen house calls already?

I think they're paranoid or something. Maybe they thought Si- _his_ death somehow unsettled me.

Yeah, like they'd know. _They_ have visited numerous times already and not one of the responsible, level-headed, _rational_ adults noticed the little secret I'm carrying with me.

You call that responsible?

I've nothing to do. Not anymore. The only person I want to write to me is- not here at the moment.

So I have to settle with a hundred and one ridiculous, corny and just so damn annoying substitutes that're all saying the same. Which is basically just bullshit and hypocrisy.

I had a fun time burning every single one of those letters. Although I set the kitchen on fire at the same time so now I'm even more bored because they locked me up in my room.

My '_room'_. Like any of this ever belonged to me in the first place.

_He _promised- back when it was still just the two of us and the world was a bad dream we were having together- that he'd give me a proper home. One way or the other, he said he'd get me out of here.

I'm getting close to the other way.

Say, have you ever cut yourself? I recommend it, it's actually quite fun once you get the hang of it.

Nothing too deep or the tendons might get sliced and then it's bye bye arm functioning. But if you slice just at the right angle and shallowly enough you have a good chance of getting to watch the blood pouring down your skin and coloring it crimson red.

Don't try telling me I've got issues. I'm all peachy and perfect, just like _Remus_ deemed the last time he was here. Gods, that man's annoying. I don't understand how I could ever like him or how he could be _his_ best friend. The wolfy didn't even notice anything when he butted in last time. And here I thought werewolves have good sense of smell.

It kinda amazes me how much the human body can contain blood. I've been here for twenty seven days now (that's 2 332 800 seconds by the way, isn't it a big number?) and I think I've bled out half of my blood like fifty times already. That's more than twice a day, savvy? I'm careful around my wrists, though. Wouldn't want to accidentally leave this paradise-like place and all.

On another note, I hate surprise-visits. Or, to be more accurate, I hate everything with the word surprise in it. The only person with the privilege to surprise me is- not here now, I told you that already, right? But the wolfy made a surprise visit, just now actually. Or maybe it was last week. Or last year. I don't seem to remember things in chronological order anymore.

Anyway, that idiot burst into my little paradise-like place (I don't think he's ever heard of this thing called _knocking_, it's only polite), interrupting the meaningful discussion I was having with my blade about whether the room was enough plastered with my blood and S- _his_ name already or not. His expression was one to look at, I wish I'd had a camera at the ready back then.

Well, I just coolly rose from my bed and went to greet him, it's only polite, you know. No matter if the other's looking at you with something akin to terrified worry and is taking step back when you approach with blood still pouring down your bare arm.

I think we had a meaningful discussion back then (a second ago, a decade ago, who the hell cares anyway?) which ended with Remus' hand tightly around my upper arm as he Apparated us straight to St Mungo's. I was a bit confused then, there was nothing wrong with me as you're well aware. I wasn't sick, so why was I there?

Well, one thing led to the other as I've painfully and disgustingly come to notice and I was dressed in white hospital robes and shoved into a white room before I could say 'dog', my arms bandaged and for some peculiar reason bound to the bed. I remember frowning towards the ties, _he_ was the only one I allowed to tie me up and this situation was nothing close to the times we'd had our fun in

Si- _his_ bedroom in _that_ _house_.

At the moment I liked _that house_ more than any other place on this pitiful ball they liked to call Earth. That's where we had been _we_, _us_. Two against the rest of the society. Not that we'd cared that much. An ex-convict and everybody's idol made the perfect pair. In our own eyes, that is.

Never mind anyone else.

There was another 'never' there, did you notice? I sure as hell did, I hate that word. It comes right after Avada Kedavra on the most hated words list, created by the Boy-Who-Never-Had-Problems.

Some Healer came to talk to me after Remus had just dumped me and left again. I thing the wolfy thought I was sick on the stomach or something. Anyway, I had a fun time with the Healer, she asked funny questions and I entertained myself by coming up with interesting ways of refusing to answer to them . It was quite fun for a while but then I just grew bored and shut up. The ties were fun to play with even though I could use only one hand to do it. I didn't quite understand why they'd bound me, though, there was nothing wrong with me and I'd seen from the TV that they did something like this only to suicidal patients. I wasn't suicidal, now was I?

Eventually the woman left, leaving me alone to play with the ties until that got boring as well.

The room was white, by the way. Nothing but white here and white there. I hated white just because it was the opposite of black and everything that was opposite to black was disgusting. Simple logic, right? I'm quite proud of it.

Time loses its meaning after a while.

Aren't I poetic?

Yeah, I discovered this new talent of mine a bit to the summer. It's quite fun to write with your own blood, actually. I never liked it when that Umbridge hag forced me to do it but that was just because I approached the matter differently back then. You can transform any kind of pain to a pleasant one with the right kind of thinking.

I think I need my blade now. Where's my blade?

Don't you dare suggesting I've got issues, okay? I'm perfectly _peachy_ just like Remus said.

Speaking of the wolf, he was here earlier. I've been bound to the bed for a few days now and I can tell the novelty fell off quite a while ago. Remus brought some other people along as well, I could hear them as they trialed me around the bed.

Did I mention I pretended to be sleeping? Yeah, I didn't feel like talking to anyone. They're all idiots, anyway. No-one understands me, if you allow me to be a bit childish here for a sec.

I think Ron and Hermione were there as well. I'm sure at least Hermione was. I could recognize that annoying high voice anywhere. I think Voldy should take speech-lessons from the Know-It-All.

The problem with my line of thoughts was that I started laughing quietly and that just kinda gave me away, now wouldn't you agree? I remember cursing silently when the small mumbling died out and I could feel their eyes boring to my body. I was forced to open my eyes and now you'll have some other people talking as well, it's no fun if it's just me.

So, I opened my eyes and saw half a dozen people gathered around my bed. They looked funny against the pure-white background and I chuckled again, making some disturbed expression race across their faces.

'What d'you want?' I asked and I must say I loved my voice. It sounded a bit like _his_ voice when he'd just escaped from Azkaban and I silently commended myself of it.

If I give you the next line spoken I think you won't need that much thought to figure out who said it.

But I think I want to be sure. So, here goes.

'What the hell were you thinking?!'

Okay, it might be a bit tricky after all. Suggestions, anyone? Remember that it's Remus, Hermione and half the Weasel clan in the room.

No?

Okay.

It was my dear friend Ron. I think he's insensitive, that boy. To ask such unsettling questions when I've just tried to ignore them the best I could. How rude, now wouldn't you agree?

I remembered it's only polite to answer so I parted my dry lips again, the chuckle still welling in my chest like searching for a way out. Aren't we all searching for a way out?

'Depends what you mean,' I answered, seeing the anger in their eyes before I directed my gaze to the boring ceiling. Like I hadn't gazed upwards thousands, millions of times already.

'Are you insane?' Ron pressed on, slumping to sit on the edge of my bed.

I need to remind you here that my hands were still bound so I couldn't move that much. And that redhead sat almost directly on my arm. Such insensitiveness, although I think I should thank him because the wounds weren't fully healed and I got a small, tiny slice of my daily pain-portion from the pressure on my hand and arm. Unfortunately the hag (no, not Umbridge, the red counterpart is who I mean this time) caught up with it and shrieked the boy to stand up, yelling something about purposeful infliction of pain and other hypocritical shit.

'I don't mind, he can sit back if he wants,' I said, addressing the ceiling. Somehow Ron remembered his initial question from this and repeated it, making my gaze lower. "Define insane," I suggested.

Apparently it was a hard task or something because Ron didn't say anything after that and I was able to return to my ceiling-gazing.

Stargazing is much more fun, by the way. Especially if you're doing it in midwinter when it's cold as hell and you think some parts of your body will fall off if you stay out on the roof for a second longer. Good thing we (I told you about _us_, right?) had clear plans on how we were gonna get warm again.

And here comes the next comment. This was getting slightly annoying already.

'Are you okay?'

Okay? Me? Just peachy and pure sunshine, dear Hermione, just like always. Isn't it so sweet?

'Okay?' I repeated, still addressing the ceiling. 'Well, we can have a good think tank about that. Especially if the tank's full of Firewhiskey. But okay? Of course I'm okay. When haven't I been okay? Just kill and butcher everyone around me and shove their blood into my hands and come to see that I'm still smiling.' My gaze lowered to my committee and I sat up, my head tilting as I looked at Hermione. 'I don't have the _right_ to be not-okay, you fucking Know-It-All, didn't you know that? I'm supposed to be all peachy and happy even though-'

My damn throat squeezed shut at that point so I just settled with a bitter snort before flopping back against the pillows, my eyes closing to shield me from the worried glances I was receiving.

They tried to get me talking after that but I didn't feel like it. I wanted my blade and booze. In that particular order and like _now_.

Eventually they left but that wasn't the end of visits I was forced to endure. The Healers kept pestering me, though I caught up with what they wanted pretty fast. I told them what they wanted to hear, shed a few tears here and there to be convincing enough and voilá! I was free to go with the sincerest of promises to never do anything like that ever again.

There was yet another 'never' there, did you notice? This's getting boring already.

They dragged me to _that house_, probably so that they could keep an eye on me. I think the place still served as the HQ, not that I could've cared less. It was gloomy, dark and full of painful memories.

I loved it there.

I already told you, with the right way of thinking any kind of pain becomes pleasurable.

Are you calling me a masochist now?

Maybe I am. A masochist, that is. I always loved it rough with Si- _him_ when we were in bed. The rougher _he_ was the harder I screamed. It's kinda logical, though. And he knew it as well. Good thing Azkaban'd thrown him a bit off those famous hinges so he didn't mind being sadistic.

Like I said. A perfect match.

Did I happen to mention the house was perfect for my plans? I think_ his_ father had been a bit paranoid so there were all sorts of wards and barriers around the place.

Result? Immunity to the Trace.

And didn't _that_ suit me more than well.

You see, it's slightly difficult to make a Portkey if you get caught the second you raise your wand.

Bless the bastard, now everything's a lot easier.

Dumbledore came to see me as well. When I was already in _that house_. That damn twinkle in his eyes nearly made me want to smash something and I just wished he'd go away so that I could go upstairs to _his_ room (well, I was occupying it at the moment so I guess it was my room but it'll always remain _his_ room) and do my magic with the blade.

Did they really think I'd stop just because they _asked_ me to? Don't make me laugh.

Would you believe they did a check on my arms every day? Like I'd get caught that easily. _Dear_ Remus seems to be forgetting that arms aren't the only place in my body I can reach. Poor him. I think he thinks he's doing the right thing or something but he's just annoying me more and more as the days pass. I'm glad my plan's going somewhere.

On another note, I always thought that getting a gun would be somehow difficult. But here I have it, beside me on the table in _his_ room. I can see out to the backyard from here, you know. I know I shouldn't be rocking with my chair but it's a habit that clung on me from all those hours and hours of watching _him_ doing it.

You ever heard of Russian Roulette? I think it's a fascinating game. Too bad no-one wants to play it with me. I can't understand why.

It's nice… listening to the gun's cracking against my head. It nearly gets me hard when I press the barrel against my temple and pull the trigger. Nothing happens, of course. It's not loaded. Gods, I'm not _suicidal_ or anything after all.

They caught me doing it after a week or so. By the way, I still marvel on how easy it was to just walk out during one of those nights and go and buy a gun. Just like that and they never found out.

Until the Know-It-All bitch burst into my- _his_- room (they really don't know how to knock and it's damn annoying) and halted in mid-step, interrupting me when I had the gun against my temple again.

I think she screamed. With a high voice and damn if it was deafening. I frowned, I remember I did, before returning my gaze to the rainy landscape. My finger pulled the trigger and I heard hurried footsteps, I think she thought I was gonna blow my brains to the carpet or something.

I got a migraine after that. All the other people in the house just flew into the room and of course they saw me with a gun and Hermione right next to me, hanging on to my arm and bending my hand away from my head.

I managed to get her off and then pointed the gun at her, just for the fun of it. You should've seen her face, she went pale faster than a ghost. But it didn't end there, no. After that her face decided to turn into an ugly shade of pink and I think her legs gave in. So there she was, on her knees with a gun (not loaded, mind you) pointing at her forehead. I think she thought she was going to die. I'd like to ask her what it felt like, if she saw her life flashing before her eyes, but I don't have to. I can ask myself in a minute.

Anyway, there we were. A dozen people accompanied with the now officially bonkers Boy-Who-Didn't-Have-The-Right-To-Love. I heard Remus, he was talking with a soothing voice while approaching me like I was some dangerous (not to mention poisonous) wild animal.

And I felt like one. A dangerous, poisonous animal that is.

I wished, at that time, that the gun would've been loaded. I had real bullets, I did. But because I wasn't anything even _near_ suicidal I didn't load the gun when I had my little game.

I regretted it, back then. I wished I could've just pulled the trigger and sent every one of those hypocritical bastards to hell.

In the end I just lowered the gun and laughed. It gave me quite the satisfaction to see the scared looks on their faces as I laughed and exited the room, banging the door shut at my wake. Just for the fun of it, you see.

I climbed to the roof the other day. It was actually only a few hours before I finally executed my plan but I'm not telling you about that yet, you need to have something to look forward to. I don't.

Not anymore. Not after what happened in _there._

So, the roof.

It's actually quite peaceful up there. Nothing but birds and sunlight. Although in my case it was rain.

I loved the rain.

So there I stood, on the edge of the roof. Right behind the eaves, that's where I looked down to the ground and wondered what it would feel like to just jump and be free for the split of a second before

I'd smash against the grass in a mass of blood and bones.

But because you already know that I'm anything but suicidal I can confidentially say I just _thought_ about it. There was definitely no hidden, ulterior motive to the fact I kept thinking about jumping and dying all the time these days. It was only normal. Every almost sixteen-year-old thought about stuff like that. And as such, I had nothing to worry about.

Some people just can't leave me be. I'd been on the roof for like ten minutes and then the wolfy came up as well. I can't understand what he was thinking when he said all those things a second after arriving. Though I believe he thought I was going to jump or something.

Yeah, like I'm suicidal or something. Please, don't make me laugh.

But apparently it somehow looked like that. And I don't think the gun in my hand was that reassuring.

It was loaded that time. The gun, I mean.

I just wanted to try it.

It felt nice, pressed against the side of my thigh. Cold and heavy, just like my whole body and the

thing that had some other time and dimension been called my heart.

It hurts like hell when your heart gets ripped out, I already told you that, now didn't I? And no amount of the right way of thinking or cutting your skin or getting an alcohol-problem helps any of it.

I managed not to think about it that much up till now. I think I'm a bit happy. That the pain stayed away, that is. Nothing else. I can't really understand the definition of happy anymore.

So, the gun and roof. Right.

I think Remus thought I had some issues or something. He wouldn't believe me when I said I was

just looking down, that damn pestering wolf. He dragged me back downstairs by force and then made me _eat_, like I actually needed energy for something.

I didn't need it, not anymore. My plan was going to get some action tonight.

Did I mention about the Portkey already? I think I did. I learned how to make one by reading some books in the library. T_hey_ thought it was good that I showed interest in something and shoved more books into my hands but I wasn't interested in them and the works landed on the floor if I didn't throw them to the wall. Just because of the fun of it, you see.

Anyway, I finally mastered the fine art of making a Portkey. And tried it a few times.

Sirius's grave looked the same every time I visited. I doubt anyone noticed the missing roses from the vase in the living-room.

The engraved sentence under his name was ridiculous and I hated it. Superficial shit, that's what it was.

So, about the night I finally executed my plan.

It was a beautiful night. I loved the nights, they'd been the tiny bits of moments -_life_- me and Sirius had had all to ourselves back then. So long ago back then.

No-one noticed when I went to _his_ room a bit earlier than usual. The gun was on the nightstand drawer just like always. I'm surprised no-one tried to take it away from me but the pouch I kept it in might've had something to do with it. I doubt anyone'd like to get their fingers torn off.

For once I'm grateful of Hagrid's odd tastes.

The gun was fully loaded and felt comfortingly heavy against my back as I slipped it under the waistline of my jeans and covered it with my shirt.

The Portkey was just a piece of parchment. Like I needed something finer and fancier.

I gave the room a last glance before grabbing the paper and tapping it with my wand. I hated the sensation it gave me.

The graveyard was small. I think it was somewhere in Scotland, if judging by the landscape. Well, like I cared.

I knew by heart the small path that led to the small stone meaning the world to me right now. The moonlight plated and illuminated my way and the trees cast their shadows to my face as I walked, slowly and silently. It occurred to me that this was the most perfect of scenes for a vampire to jump from the shadows and claim me but I understood the absurdity in it and continued walking. _Nothing_ could keep me here any longer than necessary.

I reached the gravestone eventually, after what felt like hours and hours of walking even though it must've been no more than a few minutes.

Time loses its meaning after a while, I told you that, right?

The black stone glistered in the moonlight, the golden letters screaming to me and mocking me as I slid to stand on my knees on the grass. I placed a single rose to the now black piece of greenness, feeling a thorn stinging my finger dully before I let go.

Maybe I kissed the flower before I placed it down. I can't really remember now, sorry.

It didn't take me that long before I was leaning to the side of the gravestone familiarly, like searching for support. I doubt I needed it, though.

The gun slipped into my hand so easily. The metal was cool against my skin when I pressed it against my temple.

There was no reason to get overemotional.

I felt nothing.

Though, just like before, there might've been the smallest sensations of a thrill running down my spine before it died out, accompanying the rest of my sanity. There wasn't much of it left anymore, by the way.

I sat there, just like that, for a good while. I didn't have a clock with me, the hell would I need that for? Maybe I was waiting for some sting in my overrated consciousness or a feeling of backing off.

Nothing came.

I'd decided on this a long time ago, after all.

Not even my heart pounded faster or harder when I stirred, taking the gun from pointing to my head and directing it to my free hand.

When I pulled the trigger there was a loud noise this time. There was a bit more resistance on the killing-machine before the bullet shot out and carved its way through my palm, eating a neat hole into it before burying itself to the blackness.

Blood is black in the moonlight. Black is beautiful.

I didn't even feel anything when I shot myself, by the way. I just observed, with dull eyes, as the blood trailed down my hand and pooled to the ground.

My fingers bent and dipped on the blackness before I pressed them against the cool stone. And then I wrote.

And still nothing.

Not a sting in my consciousness. No remorse. No sadness. Only a calm and cold determination that felt okay to me.

The metal was warmer when I pressed it against my temple again.

'I hope I'll see you soon, baby,' I whispered to the darkness, maybe feeling a slight lump in my

throat but that was because of the sudden happiness floating to me, to every corner of my body.

I think I smiled. A real smile.

For the first time in almost three months I felt truly happy.

'_Goodbye_.'

You know, it was easy to pull the trigger.

* * *

**A/N:** The odd thing is that I nearly cried when I wrote the ending but when I came back to read it the next day I didn't cry.

So, this was my first 'I'- type story so I'd like to know how I did... *hint hint* Feedback is always welcomed, even if it's just to forbid me for ever writing anything like this ever again ^^;

Review and make me happy, 'kay? ;)


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